Motherly Instincts and Hug Defficiencies

Even though I had and still have a lot of reading and studying to do, this last study break was awfully enjoyable. I had to go to a meeting tonight, which included an encounter with a girl I have let down about dinner twice now. She neglected to eat dinner today, which is not cool especially considering she's kind of sick at the moment. In order to make up for this, I invited her over so that she could have Top Ramen that we have around.
I think it's really funny how motherly I get. I warmed up the mug filled with water for her, and cooked the ramen with the microwave we have in our room. I walked her over to the end of the hall, where there is chocolate. I took a bite when she told me to, out of the Reese's we acquired. I made sure that the music I picked was calm for her, and she did little dances when "Deadbeat Summer" came on. I won't be able to play that song soon, it's only enjoyable when it's too hot to want to do anything. She squealed when the ramen she ate became unruly and sighed when the heat of it came back up from her stomach and through her mouth. Her company was extremely enjoyable. Afterwards, I was obsessed with removing every little spot of its recent use out of existence before returning it back to the floor mates I borrowed it from. I just liked it a lot, the experience of taking care of someone.

I saw her out. The goodbye hug we exchanged was strange to me. I gave the awkward one-armed hug I have become accustomed to giving now after meeting and re-meeting so many people. She wrapped both her arms around me tighter than I guess I expected and I guess it lasted longer than I expected, too. She stood on her toes even though I'm not much taller than her at all, a bit of her weight putting itself on my chest and heels. Maybe she just gives hugs less meaning than I do and, because of this, gives better hugs. Maybe she was trying to tell me something about her dancing or the sighs she made or the slight silences we had in our conversations. Maybe I did something important. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who needs a friend, but maybe this was important to her. Maybe I need to relearn how to give hugs.
--------------------------------

Memory Tapes: "Plain Material"

Sandbagging

I really hope I can finally leave everything behind. I hope I can get everything done that I want to get done for myself. I'd be very disappointed in myself if I don't, not to mention I'd end up taking it with me. I really have to leave everything behind. I'm confident that I will, though.

This doesn't make too much sense

Well, how much pain do we bring upon ourselves? Now, I don’t mean stupid decisions, stubborn habits, and undesirable personality traits. I mean, how much of our emotions do we just make up? If we really miss whoever, or if it was just a stupid fling we had that we want to have meant something, try and convince ourselves it wasn’t a shitty waste of time, maybe. If they really get on our nerves, or is it just absolutely nothing about them, it’s just the way it’s become. If whatever feelings of inadequacy are just childish attempts at getting attention from other people. Do we really like them, or have we just gotten desperate about trying to quell any deeper problems that also may not exist? Do these emotions only exist to satiate some bullshit desire in our lives for drama or feeling? Why can’t we just remove any sentiment and purge every painful feeling that we have for someone? It’s so stupidly simple to rationalize doing so. Of course we shouldn’t fall in love when we know it’ll never go anywhere. We shouldn’t stay in love when we know the person isn’t good enough for us. It doesn’t matter what we wear today to anyone but ourselves. No one cares if we didn’t hold a door open or said something mean or not. People like us, we’re just too scared to think that it’s real or just too childish to agree. You just have to keep telling yourself that you’re doing more wrong to yourself than anything else is.

I wish it were so simple, so effective.

Kids in Africa died today with empty stomachs and families in Israel are still broken by war and the worst news of the day is you feel a little shitty? Well, yes. It’s a chronic feeling, and even if it isn’t, it’s still a problem. The horrors of another land may make it seem like less of one, but it still doesn’t fix it. No one chooses to get beat or dumped or to feel bad about themselves no matter what they try. Sometimes bad is the only way you can feel. To try and make a problem seem transient compared to another obviously worse situation doesn’t fix the brooding insecurities of the body or of the mind. It doesn’t move you out of your house and it doesn’t put you to sleep any faster. The way you feel isn’t made up and your frowning isn’t insignificant. The gripping feeling on your neck is proof that you don’t make it up. The razor blade that plunges into your shoulder and the low tearing noise it makes is proof. The dirty sink is proof.

And I’m sure the beggar children in India want you to feel good, too.

Gunpowder

If it’d only light…
It’s not like there’re no sparks every day/night.
It’d start easy, fast,
Just that I’m kinda scared to freak out at last.
Freak out…
Oh I’d be launching projectile words,
I’d be set on automatic, make sure you heard
How I think that every idea you’ve got is absurd,
That every day in the house I feel unnerved,
And that I don’t like the way you talk to me anymore.

Bathroom Painting

I’m painting one of our bathrooms. Today I put on the primer coat. Not at all that exciting, especially at first, but then I realized that I have a laptop, which I then realized enabled me access to that one all-important thing: music. I dusted off the black lappy. I hadn’t touched it since it came last week. Didn’t really have a use for it, but I did then. I put my lappy on the tiny dresser (which really only actually has a prayer book in it) next to the bathroom door. I loaded up Grooveshark and got Delta Spirit playing. I aimed the speakers into the bathroom. Perfectly positioned. Two hours of wrist-destroying activity. Gobs of primer splattered onto the walls and I spread them over the bathroom like peanut butter as the sounds of Beirut, Animal Collective, Edward Sharpe, Fleet Foxes, and Songs of Green Pheasant kept the mundane task fun. I might’ve sung along aloud if I wasn’t so shy about my family. Whispering “White Winter Hymnal” under my breath sufficed. I was bored, but this was more than good enough. I’ve painted before, but I never got to choose the music. I like AFI and As I Lay Dying, yea, but it isn’t emotional to me, you see. It couldn’t make me feel good painting. I felt perfectly fine painting the bathroom, now. The fumes didn’t bother me too much at all, and I just felt good for the music. Took a break to eat with the family. My dad looked at me approvingly. He didn’t even say some stupid joke. Just said, “Mario should be the first to eat today. He’s the only one who’s been working.” I felt nice and well-fed afterwards, but there was still a tiny bit of painting left.

Those moments where you know you’ve just made a memory. I’ll remember how the roller brush was not as awesome for painting the ceiling as I though. I’ll remember that one tinge of frustration. I’ll remember the music, the uplifting melodies and gorgeous voices that carried me the whole day, and I’ll remember how my dad fell asleep to it on his bed. I’ll remember where that one streak of white paint came from on my laptop, just two inches from the trackpad where my pinkie must have rested. I’ll remember the mango I ate and how it sat in my stomach as I painted, how I could tell it still tasted sweet. I’ll remember the rest of my family laughing in the living room, maybe getting annoyed at how loud the music was. I’ll remember the music, and I’ll remember that I was actually a little sore.

Grouper-Wind and Snow

One of my most favorite songs ever. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous

Daily Routine

The day goes by
I’m sedentary,
Self-deprecating,
And the life’s dry.
And then in the night,
The past, future break into my brain,
Burglars leaving little monster thoughts,
Thoughts that taste like flesh,
And thoughts to remind me I’ll never taste it again

--------------------------------
Viernes-Swimmer's Ear